Somewhere in a cramped studio apartment, Long Phan slurped instant ramen while hunched over his laptop, the glow of the screen reflecting off his thick glasses. Like most of the planet, he was watching the Game—but unlike the casual viewers flipping between channels, Long was… obsessed.

He'd been following the feeds ever since it started, switching between the channels with the dedication of someone who had nothing better to do.

And from his expert experience, most stations covering the Game didn't give a damn about Idle Creeps—creeps who are not yet involved in battle and trapped inside the invisible walls preventing them from joining in.

The people wanted blood, action, Heroes clashing in spectacular displays of power.

Only the IBAA drones capture these idle moments for documentation.

But right now, something weird was happening in a particular Dome in the middle of a desert.

Several drones were slowly gathering on the Red team's Middle Crystal in the Middle Lane. Long scrolled frantically through feeds, trying to find better quality footage.

Long clicked through another feed and found exactly what he was looking for—higher resolution, better angle. Still far away, still top-down view, but he could finally make out the individual Creep who'd somehow made thousands of people fall in line.

Long leaned closer to his screen, squinting at the small figure in black armor. Something about the silhouette nagged at him. The person's hair.

"No fucking way… right?" Long whispered, nearly dropping his chopsticks. "No way!"

He jumped back from his laptop, pointing at the screen with a trembling finger. He wasn't completely sure, but he recognized that head. He'd been there in Dallas, inside the building, when that mysterious guy fell on top of a car. From where he was standing, the angle matched perfectly.

He wasn't sure, of course, but that didn't matter—what mattered was that this was the same person the Duelist of Rose had kissed.

Long's heart raced as he minimized the stream and opened his photo gallery. He'd taken dozens of pictures that day, posting them everywhere for clout. Blurry, yes. But enough.

"Holy shit, holy shit," he muttered, taking a screenshot of the drone's feed and pulling both photos up side-by-side. The hair was the same length, same color. Even from the terrible drone angle, the resemblance was… undeniable.

Of course, he couldn't be completely certain. The footage was grainy, the distance enormous. But like most people, Long didn't care about being right—he cared about being first.

His fingers flew across the keyboard and posted his findings. Then he jumped into the live chat of the drone feed, spamming the link.

<Chat! Chat! look at dis! It's the same guy!>

The few people watching the boring desert feed clicked his link immediately.

<no way, right?>

<Bruh. That's not even the same person>

<I think his right? look closer, the hair is exactly the same!??>

<guys. stop feeding the troll>

The opinions split down the middle, but Long didn't care. His one single post had started something. More viewers began switching to the channel, curious about the mysterious Creep.

The station, of course, noticed the sudden spike in viewership and made the decision to focus their drone exclusively on the lone figure.

But as minutes ticked by with nothing happening in the desert, viewers started leaving. The station kept its drone trained on the scene anyway, sensing something bigger was coming.

Then the Administrator's voice echoed through the feed.

[Oh, no! Your team's Outer Middle Crystal has been destroyed! Deploying more troops in 5… 4…]

The invisible barrier protecting the Creeps dissolved, but surprisingly, no one moved. The drone couldn't capture audio from that distance, so viewers had no idea what was being said down there.

Down in the desert, Adam faced the crowd of terrified Creeps.

And for the first time, incredibly out of character, Adam decided to do something he'd never truly done before, something he dreaded even more than the training with Clementine.

He decided to raise his voice… and speak loudly.

"Everyone!" he shouted, his words drowning the Administrator's voice. No one even actually listened to the announcement—they only listened to him.

"I know all of you are terrified. Use that to survive. Protect yourself first, and then protect those weaker than you. Survive, because only then can you ask forgiveness. And please… don't die!"

The crowd looked confused. This mysterious Creep had barely spoken a word since the Game began, and now he was telling them to survive?

But humanity only needed a single spark to march forward, and right now…

…Adam was that spark.

None of them knew each other, none had cared about anyone else just moments before. But they looked at each other now and nodded with understanding.

Meanwhile, Adam clutched his chest, feeling the pouch hidden beneath his armor. He drew the Shion and slowly pointed it skyward—a protest against the Game, against the Administrators who watched from wherever they were watching.

And of course… the Creeps behind him misunderstood this act completely. They placed their hands over their hearts and looked up at the sky, quietly promising to survive just as their leader had asked.

Adam lowered his weapon and scanned the crowd until he found the veteran woman and her companion, who stood up against the thugs from earlier.

"Can you lead them?" he asked, approaching the pair. "You have the most experience here."

The two veterans exchanged confused glances. Wasn't Adam the one with the most experience?

"But you—" But alas, before they could voice their thoughts, Adam… suddenly ran.

He sprinted forward across the sand, leaving everyone else behind.

"What the…"

The entire desert fell silent as they watched their leader suddenly leave them behind.

"Did… did he just leave us?"

The remaining Creeps slowly turned to look at the veteran woman and her companion.

The two looked at each other awkwardly before shouting, "M-march!"

And just like that, thousands of people began running toward battle, following the path their mysterious leader had carved across the sand.

***

"Everyone! Please, stop pushing each other! We can retreat without pushing each other!" A woman's voice cracked as bodies pressed against her from all sides.

"Run! Just run! We're doomed!"

"Our Crystal's broken! Run!"

"Our heroes have abandoned us!"

With their Crystal shattered along with their hope, the Red Creeps from the Outer Middle Crystal retreated. They ran, leaving behind the corpses of their comrades.

Some moved away from the main group, desperate enough to try their luck in the other lanes with a Hero on it. Most, however, kept running straight back, clinging to the slim chance that a Hero waited at the Middle Crystal.

Behind them, the Blue creeps looked as desperate as them.

"Don't let them regroup! Our Heroes have already left to help the other lane! If they regroup, they'll outnumber us!"

"Kill them all while they have their backs turned!"

"Kill them!"

The war cries made the fleeing Red creeps flinch, but they didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Their legs pumped through the sand as some of their slower comrades were caught and cut down. The screams of the dying mixed with the pounding of feet and ragged breathing.

Wade, a middle-aged accountant who'd never run more than a mile in his life, felt his lungs burning.

"H-How much further?" he gasped to the woman beside him.

"I don't know!" she sobbed back. "I can't see the Crystal!"

The pillar of light that marked their destination seemed impossibly distant, a cruel mirage that refused to grow larger no matter how hard they ran. The sand started to feel wet, making their steps heavier than the last.

Minutes, and then more minutes passed. And then, finally… someone shouted from the front of the group.

"Look! There!"

A cloud of sand was approaching them from ahead.

"It's reinforcements!"

"We're saved!"

"Thank God, thank—Huh?"

Their celebration died as the dust cloud revealed a single shadow racing toward them. But the cheers returned when they realized it had to be a Hero. Who else could move that fast alone?

…And who else would be alone?

But as the figure drew closer, the red halo above his head became visible to them. It was a Creep. A single Creep.

"What the hell?" Wade squinted through the sweat stinging his eyes. "That's one of ours?"

"Why is he running toward us alone?!"

"Is he insane?!"

The figure carried a massive weapon, which made him look smaller than he already was.

"Is that… a child?"

Some of the retreating creeps started waving their arms.

"Turn back!" they shouted. "There's too many of them!"

"You'll die out there!"

"Run the other way! What the fuck are you doing?!"

But the lone creep didn't slow down. If anything, he went faster.

Wade found himself at the front of the group when the figure reached them. He opened his mouth to warn the crazy bastard about the Blue army behind them… but he couldn't.

But of course, Adam didn't stop. He weaved through the crowd, almost like an animal.

Adam's eyes started to scan everyone there. Wade caught a glimpse of those eyes… and felt his blood freeze. They weren't the eyes of someone crazy.

They were the eyes of a hunter.

Adam's gaze jumped from person to person, checking the halos above their heads.

Red. Red. Red. And then...

Blue.

Adam stopped so suddenly that sand sprayed around his feet. He rotated his massive weapon and placed the blunt side against the Blue Creep.

The swing that followed launched the woman twenty feet through the air, her scream cutting through the desert as she crashed into her pursuing comrades.

"What the?!"

"What was that?!"

The Blue creeps halted their advance as soon as they saw that.

As for Adam, the momentum of his blade didn't stop. He spun in place, drawing a perfect horizontal line in front of his feet.

And then, he simply stood there, scanning the faces of the enemy while the sand slowly unveiled his silhouette.

The Blue creeps also stared at him… and then at the line he created in front of him.

Was he… sending them a message? Telling them that whoever crosses the line… dies?

Well, or so they thought.

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